Under the Weather
by namiangelus
Summary: Luke has fallen ill and, as always, Layton is there for him. Oneshot. Father-son relationship, NO Slash. Rated T for descriptions of illness.


Disclaimer: I do not own Professor Layton at all... I don't have anything clever to say...

A/N: I'll say this nice and clear: this is a Father-son type fanfic. There is absolutely NO slash. (Any love I speak of is platonic love.) This fanfic is basically in response to a drawing I did on Deviantart of Layton and Luke called "Under the Weather." (If you want to see it check my profile and there's a link to my Deviantart)

Under the Weather

Luke sat with his knees pulled tightly to his chest. His comforter was draped over his shoulders in an attempt to protect himself from the cool night air. Rain pattered on his window gently, while his forehead rested against the chilled glass. His cheeks were on fire, head was pounding with pain, stomach tight, and the rest of his body was ice. He was sweating but he wasn't quite sure why since he was freezing.

Luke pulled the comforter closer together but kept watching the rain drops appear on the other side of the pain. He closed his eyes lightly and sighed. Sickness was troubling him since he had gone to bed. Layton had gone out and had not come back yet. He was hoping, in the very childish part of his mind, that Layton would be home soon and tell him everything was okay.

Body wracking shakes coursed through Luke's frail form. Every minute was becoming a little more miserable for him. He could feel his stomach twisting, pushing the contents to his throat. Every time he moved the feeling got worse. Normally, Luke enjoyed the peaceful sound of the rain against glass but the sound held loneliness at the time being. It reflected his face just enough for Luke to recognize how flushed his cheeks were, how droopy his eyes were, the large dark circles forming below them, and his hair matted to his forehead.

Reaching up, Luke rubbed his hand fiercely over his face. He quickly returned his hand to be hidden deep within the folds of the comforter. In the brief moments it had been exposed his fingers had turned to ice. His heart was beating more rapidly than usual. He could feel it pounding in his chest. Luke knew he was going to be sick, he knew he was going to vomit, but in order to do so he would have to leave his warm cocoon.

Again his mind pulled from observing his symptoms to searching the area below his window for Layton. Any minute Layton was going to come waltzing in through the front door, close his umbrella, come up to Luke's room, sit down on the bed beside him, and say 'everything's going to be alright' with a look of genuine compassion. He didn't care how old he was, he honestly couldn't care less, all he wanted was Layton right now.

He felt so alone. The dark menacing sky filled the rain with depression. The silence of the house just echoed in his ears. His legs and arms were growing sore. They were extremely sensitive to the touch. If he even bumped his skin, searing pain shot through that limb. He wasn't quite sure if that was a symptom or it was just because he was constricted so tightly.

Thick, bitter mass pushed in his throat. With a large swallow he tried to ignore it, but it quickly returned. Speedily he brought his hands over his mouth. The comforter fell to his sides, making a large gap in the front where rushes of frigid air invaded. Basically falling off his bed, Luke found his feet on the wood floor that lacked any warmth in the most desperate of times. However, from his feet he collapsed forward to his hands and knees that weakly supported his body weight as he crawled towards the trash can next to his desk. With every movement pain scorched his muscles.

Once within two feet of the trash can, Luke advanced his arm and grasped the can; bringing it within his newly made cocoon. The bitter mass was back. He had to get it out. There was no swallowing this time. He lifted the can below his chin, and with tears spilling down his pink cheeks, he vomited. The awful smell filled the air, only causing more sickness. (Right now he was thankful for the purchase of a large trash can even with Layton's comments of it being unnecessary.) His gaze drifted from the revolting sight to the window.

"Please Professor, please come home." Luke pleaded. Somehow he imagined his words carrying, like magic, to Layton's ears wherever he was, but, in all reality, the rain was the only thing listening.

There was a small creaking sound but Luke disregarded it since his ears had been deceiving him so often within the last few hours. If he would have felt like this before he certainly would have put in a word against Layton leaving him, even though he hated being a bother. After Layton had left, at about four (it was now around seven-fifty) Luke had eaten but then while watching tv sickness began to grow, in hopes of feeling better he had gone to bed, just removing his shoes, socks and sweater vest. He slept for a while, then woke sweating, nauseated, and lonely.

Luke gaged. His eyes closed as his head lurched forward, adding to the contents of the trash can again. His breathing was erratic. He could smell the poisonous stench of his breath. Tears dripped off his chin into the can as well. He kept his eyes shut tight, while his mind ran with wishes of no longer being alone.

Luke's body ached. His head pounded. The air reeked. His hands shook. His mouth tasted like vomit. His cheeks burned. His body tired. The room was dark. His closed eyes could see nothing but an endless abyss. He just wanted to lay down there and sleep but sickness kept him awake. He wanted Layton. He needed Layton with him. Nothing else could shake away the illness.

"Hello?" A warm voice found its way to Luke's ears. The front door shut. "Luke, I'm home." It instantly comforted his restless mind. He opened his mouth to respond, however the response couldn't make it past the idea. The words he tired to yell came out as nothing more than a shrill, raspy whisper. Again Layton repeated his name. "Luke?"

Luke attempted to stand. He could hear Layton putting things away and settling back into the house. He knew Layton was justifying his lack of response as Luke finding early sleep. They had stayed up late the night before since they had been playing a rather intense game of chess.

Every little thing Layton did Luke listened to and deciphered what it was. Once a few minutes passed he heard Layton going to his own room. Knowing exactly where Layton was, and knowing it wasn't that far, Luke used every bit of strength in his body to hall himself to that room.

The comforter hung loose against his back, while he held it together at the front. His steps were heavy, as he made every movement look like a burden. Finally, he was there. He could see Layton sitting in his armchair, humming a song, looking out the window but with an open book in his lap. From his angle Luke couldn't see Layton's face.

"Professor?" The weak word scarcely made it past his lips. Again, Luke used every fiber in his body to walk across the room. Layton turned his head as Luke passed by the chair and stood in front of him.

"Luke?" Layton's eyes grew surprised but concerned. Luke felt a affectionate hand grace his cheek. It stayed there and was followed by the words, "you're burning up."

"Professor...?" Luke felt his throat clog again. He stared at Layton. He just wanted to be a little child. He just wanted to curl up in Layton's arms but he wasn't young, he was too old for that.

"What is it, my boy?" Layton asked.

"I feel sick." Luke knew that was a stupid and obvious thing to say. He held the comforter together with one hand and reached the other towards Layton. "My body hurts." As his hand touched Layton's front another tender hand tightened around the balled fist, that was clutching the orange material of his mentor's shirt.

"You shouldn't be walking around." Layton's voice was filled with compassion. "We need to get you back to bed." As the last word came out Luke's legs gave way and he fell to his knees on the floor, carrying Layton to kneel in front on him. "Why didn't you tell me you were not feeling well?"

"It was after you left." Luke closed his eyes. He was trying so hard to be mature. Trying so hard to be the intelligent apprentice of Professor Hershel Layton. It was becoming almost impossible. He couldn't be mature. He couldn't act his age. He was behaving like a seven year old. He was sick and in no way could he behave in a collected way. So in a childish, pleading voice, Luke spoke. "Make it go away." He fell forward into Layton's chest. His hands dropped to lay upon the wood floor next to him.

"I'm here..." Layton soothed. Arms lifted around Luke's unhealthy body. They rested gently around him, to ensure no pain would be sparked. "You'll be alright." Comforting words complemented the actions.

No matter what Layton said though, Luke still felt sick. This plan hadn't gone quite as he had hoped. Layton was suppose to scare away the illness. He bit his lip, as a few more tears formed in his eyes, and soaked into the material before his face; buried against Layton's chest.

"Come on." Layton said. He pushed Luke back and assisted his young apprentice in walking.

The world around was spinning. Luke felt horribly dizzy. His legs were stumbling and he knew he wasn't doing any of the work anymore. Before he could try to comprehend where they were walking, he was lay down upon a soft mattress. His eyes traveled around the room. This was still Layton's room.

"Now, relax, my boy." The sheets and comforter were being lifted over his body. "I'll be right back to you." Layton rushed from the room, returning with a bowl of water and a towel. The towel was dampened, then placed over his fiery forehead. "Are you comfortable?" The hand returned to his cheek, to brush away some clinging tears. Luke turned slightly towards Layton. He wanted smile and nod but both those actions conflicted with his present situation.

"Yes." He whispered.

"Good, good. Oh, my dear boy, you sure keep me on my toes." Layton smiled as he kneeled beside the bed. He ran his fingers through his apprentice's damp hair. "Try to sleep now."

Luke couldn't sleep. He couldn't put that idea into action. No, he was still too sick. Every time he closed his eyes, pain or nausea would force them open again. "Professor?"

"Yes?"

"Please make it stop. I can't sleep. You have to make it go away." The tears had reformed in his eyes. They blurred the world around him, since they sat pooled on the cornea. He tired to blink them away but they fell instead. "You have to Professor. You're so intelligent, you can do anything."

"Thank you. Okay, Luke," Layton paused. He stroked Luke's hair softly and used the other hand to hold the younger frail trembling one. "I am the beginning of sorrow, and the end of sickness. You cannot express happiness without me, yet I am in the midst of crosses. I am always in risk, yet never in danger. You may find me in the sun, but I am never out of darkness." Layton quirked his smile.

Luke laughed lightly. Puzzles. That was the cure. He should have known. If there was one thing Layton would resort to to fix anything, it was puzzles. And much to Luke's surprise, it worked. It took his mind off the sickness. After a while of trying to figure it out, his mind became scrambled and tired. His eyes drifted shut as he mumbled, "what?"

Layton, who still held his hand and was running a thumb up and down his cheek, answered in a hushed tone. "The letter S."

"Oh." Luke's mind, that was no longer thinking about the riddle, returned to his physical condition; all the pain, sickness, and sadness of his worn down body. "Ask me another."

Layton proceeded to ask three more riddles. Luke didn't get one but that didn't matter. It was listening to the tone of Layton's voice that helped, and the fact that these puzzles held a toll on his mind for a while.

Luke could no longer stay awake. Finally, his body was forcing the need for sleep over the need to experience all the uncomfortable symptoms of sickness. Layton must have recognized this because his voice dropped to almost a whisper while he spoke the last riddle.

"What comes in hundreds of forms, can be shown but not seen, can never be bought but is worth more than diamonds, and can make someone do just about anything?"

The words barely registered. The covers were rearranged securely over Luke. A chair was scooted beside the bed. A hand ran its self over his hair.

Layton removed the towel to re-wet it and as he did, he spoke the answer just before Luke passed off into sleep.

"Love."

A/N: I've only played the first game and I really don't know where this could be placed time-line-wise but I hope you enjoyed it.


End file.
